


Of Use

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, caring zolf, typical wilde being an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Oscar knows he is useful, but that's not why Zolf cares.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 6
Kudos: 141





	Of Use

Wilde wasn’t sure how long he’d been pouring over the newest maps they’d managed to obtain of Shoin’s island, he only knew that at one point he’d irritatedly had to light the lamps. There was no clear access point that wasn’t too heavily guarded, the maps were still too out of date, one of them was water damaged and he…

“You didn’t eat,” Zolf’s rough, low voice interrupted his chain of thought and he frowned looking up to see him standing at the corner of Wilde’s desk, one fist on his hip, staring at the now cold cup of miso and congealing mess of beef and rice that someone had put on his desk… how long ago now?

Wilde’s stomach gave a half-hearted rumble. He’d forgotten he was even hungry.

“Busy,” Wilde said, and Zolf’s scowl deepened. 

“You need to eat, Wilde,” he said. 

Wilde waved a hand. “I am aware of the limits of my mortal form, Zolf.”

“Yeah. Of course you are.” Sometimes it was difficult to tell if Zolf was being sarcastic. Not today, however. Zolf’s voice positively dripped with it. “How long since you’ve slept?”

“I slept last night.”

“For how long?”

“Zolf, I don’t mean to be rude, but there is an apocalypse going on here and…”

“Wilde you look _ terrible.” _

He sighed and pushed the papers away, picked up the cup of miso soup and drank it down in one gulp. Then he reached for the bowl of rice and beef, but Zolf’s strong hand grasped his before he could get to it. “Gods, Wilde, don’t eat that, I’ll make you something else. Something hot that hasn’t spent seven hours sitting on your desk. You need to eat properly and you need to  _ sleep. _ You can’t keep going on like this or…”

“I know, I know, if I keep going on like this I’ll end up useless to everyone, I am  _ aware  _ of my limits and I…”

“What? No, you idiot. If you keep going like this you’re going to _ hurt _ yourself.”

Oscar blinked, and looked up at Zolf, who still had one hand over his, eyes dark in the lamplight, frowning, but not with irritation. There was genuine concern in his expression. 

“I don’t give a piss how  _ useful _ you are, Wilde,” he said, and Oscar felt his mouth open. “I mean sure we can’t fight the apocalypse if you faint from hunger but if you faint from hunger you’re also doing damage to your internal organs not to mention if you fall wrong you could crack that stupidly pretty head against something and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Oscar had apparently forgotten how to speak. He swallowed.

Zolf squeezed Oscar’s hand. “Come down to the kitchens,” Zolf said. “There’s some leftovers from the dinner rush, we’ll get something hot in you.”

“....okay.”

Zolf stood there, looking at him for a long moment.

“What?”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Zolf said.

“What’s worse than you thought?” Zolf sighed and tugged him to his feet and all but frogmarched him out the door. 

“What’s worse than you thought?” Oscar repeated.

Zolf let out an explosive breath as they walked. “I just said, with my mouth, you know, the hole in the front of my head that makes words sometimes, that we were going to  _ get something hot in you, _ and you responded with “okay”. I’m pretty sure passing up on innuendo is the first sign that Oscar Wilde is about to perish.”

“Maybe I am a little peckish,” Oscar said, but he wasn’t really focusing on anything any more, except the warmth of Zolf’s hand in his, except the fondness in Zolf’s tone, except for the words still echoing in his ears  _ I don’t give a piss how useful you are.  _

_ I don’t want you getting hurt. _

They were in the kitchen before he came back to himself enough to pay better attention to Zolf, who was bustling around with pots and muttering under his breath. He leant against the counter, watching. He’d pushed up his sleeves, exposing corded muscle and tattooed skin, his broad hands confident and sure as he assembled a plate that made Oscar’s mouth water and his stomach give a much firmer, louder rumble.

_ Why do you care so much?  _ He wanted to ask, but didn’t, as Zolf handed him the plate and gave him an exasperated look.

“Eat,” Zolf said. 

Oscar smiled at him. “If you say so,” he said, softly. And started to eat.


End file.
